


Living Without

by WishingOnWhishaw



Series: We Learn to Live Without [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, FakeHaus, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Multi, Nobody is Dead, Other, Polyamory, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6517024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishingOnWhishaw/pseuds/WishingOnWhishaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day Bruce is there, fighting and killing and stealing with them. Then he's walking out of the door with the claim that he can't live like this anymore, and they won't be hearing from him again. The rest of Fakehaus have to deal with losing a member of their crew, a lover and a close friend, all in one go. Will they be able to stick together, or does losing Bruce mean the whole thing falls apart?</p><p>Or: Bruce quits the crew and everyone is really fucking torn up over the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Without

**Author's Note:**

> Holy heck this got way longer than I thought it would!! Sorry! This basically shows the crew's reactions to Bruce leaving, and how everyone copes without him. I'm not sure if I'm gonna do a follow-up piece showing Bruce's perspective; I figured I'd just get this monster up for now and see how well it's received before I write any more for this 'verse. Also, this took longer than it should've because Joel announced that he was leaving whilst I was in the middle of writing this and OH BOY, did that hurt.
> 
> This fic was heavily influenced/inspired by the song 'You Learn to Live Without' from the musical If/Then. Check it out if you wanna be super emo! Also, sorry if this seems really choppy when you read it. The sections aren't in chronological order, but if you listen to the song then it follows along with that, and it shouldn't be too difficult to piece things together anyway.
> 
> As always, feedback and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy my first funhaus fic!

Bruce leaving hit all of them in different ways, but his departure was by no means easy for any of them. It took them a long time, which was completely understandable, given that they’d lost a valued co-worker, someone they could look to and rely on whenever they were carrying out their admittedly unorthodox work. More importantly though, seven people had lost someone close to them, someone who was certainly more than just a friend, but thinking about labeling the complicated relationship they had had at this point only rubbed salt in the wound. And not only had they lost that friend, but said friend had in fact walked out on them.  
  
The sting of abandonment was not one which quickly subsided, and for a while some members of the Fakehaus crew wondered if the gang would even hold it together. There were doubts about trust now, about what they went through together and if it was worth it the risk, since it was apparently so easy to walk away from it all.  Well, they said easy. Nobody actually found the whole process smooth, not even the stoic Matt who was renowned for keeping his cool, for remaining somewhat emotionally detached.  
  
Bruce was never technically their leader. Nobody was, in fact. They had a strange dynamic, one which arguably separated them from the other crews in Los Santos. The members of Fakehaus recognised each other’s strengths, knew that nobody among them was good in every single situation. As a result, none of them were necessarily in charge; there was no hierarchy, no one person to make the final decision. Joel had once joked that they were a group of democratic criminals, and that was probably the best description one could come up with. Their heists were planned together, everyone had some sort of input into what they would do, how they would do it.  
  
Of course, some of them (namely Adam and Bruce) were naturally better leaders, had a better knack for reigning people in if they got too distracted, too sloppy. But these people had no greater standing in the crew. So it wasn’t that they’d lost their crew leader, and maybe that was why they were hit so hard. In theory, Bruce was just another crew member, a different finger to pull the trigger, different hands on the wheel of a getaway car. In practice, it was like each of them lost a part of themselves, and nobody could bring themselves to replace it. Their crew fell from eight members to seven, and their response was to live with the loss.  


* * *

   
Nobody was surprised to watch Lawrence descend deeper into the pit of alcoholism in the days following Bruce’s departure. He was borderline dependent at the worst of times, and it was no secret among them that it helped Lawrence cope. He’d confessed that it made his brain shut up, and nobody could begrudge him a quiet reprieve, even if his liver ultimately paid the price in the long run.  
  
After they’d all dispersed that night, Lawrence had been itching to reach for something to calm him down, to numb him for a little while. He’d tried to postpone the inevitable by turning on the TV, but within 30 minutes of sinking into his couch he’d gotten right back up again. He started out with beer and then moved onto stronger stuff, the alcohol not taking too long to kick into his system. He then retreated to his work, threw himself into coding and hacking, seeing more of a computer screen in the first three days than any of the people he called his friends. Adam eventually grew worried about the lack of contact, the texts he’d sent which Lawrence had completely ignored.  
  
There was a knock at his door, and Lawrence debated ignoring it in favour of getting this job done and out of the way. However, another insistent knock and the muffled yelling he could just about make out from his desk told him that wouldn’t be possible. He rose to his feet, drained what liquor had been left in his glass and poured himself another drink before heading to answer the door.  
  
“Adam,” was all he offered in greeting, leaving the door open and retreating back into his home. Adam followed, closing the door and taking a look around. Lawrence’s apartment was hardly the neatest place usually, what with the computer parts and various gadgets which were scattered about the place. Now, however, the tech was accompanied with scattered bottles which had once contained alcohol. The curtains were drawn shut, doing a great job of blocking out any natural light, and Adam didn’t doubt that Lawrence hadn’t left this building since _that night_ , as Adam had started to refer to it in his head.  
  
“Have you eaten?” He asked, clearly concerned, and Lawrence rolled his eyes at his friend’s typical mother hen attitude.  
  
“I think I had a bag of pretzels yesterday,” replied Lawrence, falling onto the couch and rubbing his eyes. Adam appreciated his honesty, but sighed nonetheless. Lawrence really couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself when this sort of thing happened, when his own emotions became too much for him.  
  
“You need food. And some fresh air, man. It’s obvious you’ve been staring at a monitor for way too long; you could do with a break. C’mon.” Lawrence regarded the other man, eyes slightly narrowed. Adam met the sceptical look with a stern one of his own and eventually Lawrence’s shoulders slumped in defeat.  
  
“You’re buying,” he warned, pointing a finger at Adam and swallowing back the neat whiskey before disappearing to take a cold shower to help wake him up a little. He emerged in clean clothes and they silently agreed Adam would drive, both of them knowing Lawrence was practically dead on his feet, not to mention his blood alcohol level was probably through the roof.  
  
Adam ended up getting him two cups of black coffee and a breakfast of corned beef hash, eggs, toast and hash browns. He looked like he needed the caffeine; the bags under Lawrence’s eyes were more pronounced than usual, and Adam hated that he wasn’t even surprised by his friend’s lack of sleep. Lawrence, in turn, hated that Adam looked so _normal_ given the circumstances.  
  
Their conversation topics stayed clear from anything work-related, and for a short while, neither of them thought of the friend that wouldn’t be there next time the crew got together. Adam thought maybe they’d be okay. Sure, Lawrence was struggling right now, as was the rest of the gang, he was sure. However, right now they could almost pretend things were normal. So he had hope, sue him. He knew, in the back of his mind, that once he and Lawrence parted ways again his friend would inevitably turn back to something stronger than coffee. He knew Lawrence well enough that he didn’t doubt his friend’s ability to empty that bottle of whiskey he’d been making a dent in just a few hours ago.  
  
Adam tried to stall for this reason, knowing Lawrence needed to do something else besides sitting in the dark drinking himself into numbness. Maybe Lawrence didn’t realise this, but he wasn’t about to complain about Adam’s company either. His mind was sufficiently distracted for now, and that whiskey would still be there when he finally got home.  
  
“You know you don’t have to find comfort in the bottom of a bottle,” Adam said softly, his words more of a gentle reminder than a question.  
  
“It’s a lot easier though, isn’t it?” Replied Lawrence, daring to meet Adam’s eyes over his coffee cup. “I’ve always got some vodka lying around.”  
  
“We can always be lying around. You just won’t let us.”  
  
“You say that, but yet you’re still here, right now. With me.”  
  
“Yeah, because I dragged you away. I’m never here because you ask me to be, I’m here because I know you need someone,” Adam explained, his patient tone and his lack of anger feeling like a punch to Lawrence’s gut. He was used to disappointment, to people snapping and lecturing him on his self-destructive coping mechanisms. To have Adam seem so caring was always a shock, like ice water poured over his head, and Lawrence was left wondering how to react.  
  
“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern, but you really don’t need to trouble yourself, just for future reference.”  
  
“Fuck, Lawrence,” Adam sighed, frustration finally creeping into the edges of his voice, but he sounded more upset than he did angry. “When are you gonna realise that this isn’t a chore for me? For any of us. You’re not an inconvenience, and the sooner you realise that, the better off we’ll all be.”  
  
“I’m more of an inconvenience to you than I am to liquor. And the alcohol stops me from—”  
  
“Stops you from thinking too much, I know,” Adam interrupted. “I don’t care if you feel like you need to drink. I’m just saying, you can still talk to me, or to any of us, as well as keeping your mind quiet.”  
  
“My mind isn’t quiet now that I’m with you. It’s telling me that we’re only having this conversation because Bruce left. It’s reminding me that usually we all pull together when someone takes a hit, but now we’re all fucked up, and nobody knows how to handle it. It keeps wondering how you’re the one comforting me through this when you should be hurting too, and it’s thinking about how everyone else is probably doing just as badly as I am. It’s questioning how long this whole thing is gonna last when apparently loving people isn’t enough to stop you from walking away from them for the rest of your life.”  
  
“Don’t you drink to stop all of that?”  
  
“Do I really need to answer that?” Lawrence shot back, his eyebrow arched.  
  
“Not really,” shrugged Adam. “But if you drink on your own because you think like that, then I don’t see why you can’t reach for us when you think like that too.”  
  
“I guess I’m not used to anyone caring,” replied Lawrence, and it broke Adam to hear those words leave the other man’s lips so casually. There was no hurt or anger in Lawrence’s voice, only a calm acceptance. It just drove home how used to this Lawrence was, how long he’d had to cope on his own, how he hadn’t been with them forever, hadn’t always had friends around to look out for him.  
  
“Well I care,” Adam stated, voice firm. “And you know everyone else does too. Just… Think about calling me the next time you drink yourself into oblivion, okay?”  
  
“Oh, you’re gonna regret that offer when you start getting calls from me every night,” he laughed.  
  
“I’ll never regret offering to help someone that I care about, Lawrence,” Adam replied seriously, making Lawrence pause, his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth, his chest feeling funny at the utter concern Adam had for him. Adam wanted Lawrence to be okay, wanted to be there for him at three in the morning when Lawrence was long passed sobriety and well on his way to crying himself to sleep. Adam would be happy to go around to Lawrence’s apart every goddamn night like clockwork if it meant Lawrence felt even a little bit better about himself.  
  
Lawrence never did take Adam up on the offering of calling when he needed him. So, Adam made a point to stop by frequently and check up on him, to spend time with Lawrence and pull him away from his computer. Lawrence never vocalised it, but he was privately very grateful for Adam’s company. Sure, he felt guilty when he woke up the next morning and realised Adam had wasted his night babysitting a drunk Lawrence, but whilst he was actually drunk, Lawrence loved every moment Adam spent with him. He liked feeling as if someone cared for him, liked that he didn’t need to ask Adam for anything, but Adam still came and made sure he’d eaten and talked to Lawrence about whatever the hell the hacker wanted to ramble on about. Mostly, they both liked trying to have a good time despite the fact Bruce was no longer a part of their lives.  


* * *

  
James didn’t want to admit how much the whole situation had hurt him, not even to himself, let alone anyone else. Even Elyse only got glimpses of his emotions, because James didn’t want to admit they were there. What she did notice was how much James had come to dislike their home now. He couldn’t hide how much he hated being there, had no control over the subconscious repulsion of the place that he was supposed to feel safe in. Every second he spent in his living room was one in which he was reminded that there was one less person here now. James dealt with this by not staying in more than he needed to. Elyse didn’t mind being at home, but she understood why James felt the way he did. She too missed Bruce’s presence, and although the house felt even emptier with James gone too, she was comforted by the fact he’d at least be back.  
  
James thrived off adrenaline, got reckless and desperate to throw himself into frankly stupid situations, because at least then he had some form of control. He couldn’t think about his best friend deciding to walk out of his life, out of all their lives, not when he was surrounded by danger. James was breathless, could feel his heart hammering, and heard the blood pounding in his ears. The smells of a shoot-out; petrol, blood, copper and dust, clung to him and it was more soothing than jarring. He was used to this. Watching as the LSPD tried (and failed) to do something, emptying magazines into police officers and rival gang members alike. James was good at this, confident and, most importantly, not emotionally invested. It was about as close to relaxed as he was going to get, and he thrived off the rush he got from wreaking havoc on the city.  
  
When he did eventually get home, he was tired from exertion, crashing now that his body had stopped pumping adrenaline through his system. His clothes were often bloodied, or torn, or would bring the smell of fire and smoke back into his home. He never had the energy to was them, and found himself eternally grateful for the contacts they had which allowed him to send in blood-stained clothes to a dry cleaners on a semi-regular basis, no questions asked.  
  
Where James was once strict about making his own meals, he now avoided the kitchen as if it had some sort of infectious disease. Elyse knew he wasn’t himself when James came home one night and ordered Chinese takeout from the first place he found a menu for. Briefly, she realised, she should probably be more concerned that James was getting involved in gun fights every other night, but in their line of work, that wasn’t too out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary, however, was James slacking on his fitness because he couldn’t stand to make food which wasn’t full of grease and God knows what else. He still went to them gym, if anything more so now than before, but she knew this was just an excuse to be away, something else that could calm James without attracting police attention.  
  
 “You can’t keep running away forever,” she mentioned casually when there was a lull in their conversation, both of them sat cross-legged on their bed, cartons of food spread around them and some old movie playing on TV that they’d both seen a hundred times before.  
  
“If I don’t run, then the cops shoot me,” James quipped back instantly, witty as always with a playful grin on his face which looked just a little too forced. Elyse gave him a small smile, but rolled her eyes at his attempt to dodge the real issue here.  
  
“That’s not what I meant. You know that,” Elyse responded, caught James’s gaze for a moment before he looked down at his food, shrugging one shoulder.  
  
“He ran. I can do the same.”  
  
“You’re not running from people, James, you’re running from emotions. I don’t care if you wanna go out and settle turf wars or whatever, but you can’t keep doing it just so you don’t have to deal with your problems.”  
  
“You done with the lecture?” He prompted when Elyse stopped talking, and she sighed heavily, knowing she wasn’t getting through to him. James had already decided that he didn’t want to have this conversation, and trying to get him to listen now would be nigh on impossible.  
  
“I’ll stop the lectures when you stop trying to avoid the situation,” she explained patiently, didn’t rise to the challenge he’d presented because she knew they were all hurting enough already, that they were just emotional and tense and searching for some kind of outlet for all the pent up pain and anger. “You don’t wanna talk about it now? Fine. But this isn’t something that will go away with the more people you kill. You’re gonna have to face this eventually, James.”  
  
“Thanks, but I am an adult. I can handle it,” James insisted, clearly indicating that he was done talking about this. Elyse didn’t miss the way his eyes avoided hers, how James suddenly seemed interested in the movie. He knew that seeing the mixture of sadness and disappointment on her face would tear open that wound he’d been trying his best to heal, and Elyse understood that. So she didn’t push James any further, at least not that night. She just trusted that he would talk eventually, and wouldn’t get himself blown up in the meantime.  


* * *

  
Joel’s initial reaction was one of stress, along with the obvious sadness. He worried about his friends, about their crew, about how they could move on. He wondered if they’d even recover from such a monumental blow, both as individuals and as a group of people whose livelihoods depended on them co-operating. He felt somewhat responsible for the rest of his crew, but he had no way to console them over this, besides offering physical comfort. Given the lack of communication between them over the last 24 hours, he doubted that anyone was looking for that. He supposed they were all too raw, still trying to come to terms with the fact Bruce just walked out on them. Joel’s stupidly poetic brain comes up with some lines which hit too close to home for him to actually write them down. They’re lines which lament of their own mortality, the irony of getting shot at regularly and yet when they lose one of their own it’s not because of a death, which they’d all expected. The suspension of belief that this would last until they all went down, fighting and together had shattered. Bruce had defied all of their expectations, and Joel felt cruel for thinking it, but perhaps that’s why this hurt so much. Nobody had seen this coming.

Fakehaus dealt with death on an all too regular basis; it was the nature of their work. They made their money through the strategic use of bullets and explosives, and they all knew, in the back of their minds, that it was only a matter of time before it came back around and bit one of them on the ass. Then they lost Bruce on a quiet night, no guns besides the ones they kept on themselves for personal safety, the sirens in the background not a result of their antics for a change. Bruce hadn’t gone the way they’d expected, had ran from the fight instead of going out as a martyr. Somehow that made things worse, at least in Joel’s eyes.  
  
As far as their business was concerned, he had no idea what their next move was. They were usually on top of jobs, preparations, doing supply runs and planning for their next big task. Now Joel wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to get everyone back in for another operation, let alone come up with a time frame. He knew they couldn’t be idle for too long. After all, they had a reputation to uphold, and whilst he understood this was a difficult situation, taking an extended break to deal with the fallout of Bruce’s departure wouldn’t do them any favours.  
  
He read over an email from one of their arms dealers for what felt like the fiftieth time before giving up, locking his phone and setting it down on his kitchen counter. Joel leaned down, elbows propped on the granite as he cradled his own face in his hands, rubbed his temples in circular motions to try and ease the tension headache he could feel brewing behind his eyes.  
  
“This whole situation is fucked up,” he mumbled to himself. His phone buzzed again, the familiar chime that signalled a new email which was followed by a low groan from Joel, who still had his eyes closed. He decided to ignore whoever was sending him work related messages, feeling he could take tonight off, at least. Tomorrow he’d start trying to put the pieces of their crew back together, but he knew he was too swamped with his own emotions to do anything productive for the remainder of the evening.  
  
Joel opted instead to run himself a bath, knowing he would be able to lay down and not feel completely stressed out for the duration of his soak in the hot, soapy water. He turned off his business phone to make sure he remained undisturbed, bringing his emergency cell into the bathroom, on the off chance one of the guys needed him. They were the only ones with the number for his backup, so if something was really wrong, they’d still be able to contact him. You could never be sure what issue would suddenly arise with the lifestyle they led. He took painkillers to soothe the dull throbbing in his head, and played his favourite calming music to really help him settle down. Let it be known that Joel Rubin didn’t do things by halves; if he was going to have a relaxing night wherein he indulged himself, then he was going to go all out on the indulgent front.  
  
That, of course, meant he ended up drinking two expensive bottles of pinot noir by himself, but really, he didn’t care. Not even when the alcohol got to his brain, when he started to get emotional and less detached from the situation than he’d intended. Because goddamnit, he’d loved Bruce, and losing him so suddenly _hurt_ and Joel was allowed to feel upset about this. He was allowed to be angry at someone who treated him, who treated their whole crew like they weren’t important, like none of them had ever meant anything to him. Joel was allowed to wonder how Bruce could give it all up so easily, and he was allowed to have one night where he let this get to him.  
  
And it really was just for the night. Joel awoke the next morning, his headache now completely self-inflicted and slightly more bearable because of that fact. His hangover wasn’t too pressing though, and he honestly didn’t regret anything he’d done yesterday. Turning his phone off had been a wise idea in hindsight, as it meant he hadn’t drunkenly called anyone, and he could now spend the day having normal conversations without the involvement of any alcohol. Unless he ended up speaking to Lawrence, of course.  
  
His first port of call was Adam, since Joel trusted him to be one of the more composed ones out of them all. Joel was right in that assumption. He also wasn’t surprised that Adam hadn’t been able to get through to Lawrence, but was comforted by Adam’s determination to get their resident hacker at least talking to him, even if he couldn’t be coaxed out of his apartment just yet. He learned from Elyse that James seemed to be handling things in his own way, and whilst Joel was pretty sure that meant James was avoiding the issue altogether, he knew that Elyse would take care of him and pull James back in if things went too far. She was probably the best person to get through to him anyway, he reasoned. Also, Elyse herself seemed largely unaffected by the whole thing, and so Joel trusted her to take hold the fort on that front.  
  
Joel had already decided that he’d visit Spoole later that day, since he was sure the younger man would want to talk things over. Spoole was the one Joel was most concerned about, the one he didn’t trust to handle this completely by himself. They all joked about babying him, but Joel’s protective instinct really did run deep when it came to the young man. So, Joel called Matt before heading out, wondering if he’d be there, if they could all go somewhere together. The phone went to voicemail. That was odd, though it wasn’t completely unheard of. Matt was probably busy. So, Joel left a message, wishing Matt well and promising to call him back later.  


* * *

  
All of Joel’s following calls also went unanswered. Matt knew that Joel wasn’t calling because he sought comfort over all of this, and so he didn’t bother answering or returning the missed calls. He knew that he needed to be there for the rest of his crew, that some of them wouldn’t take the loss of one of their members as well as the others. Joel was one of the ones he trusted to remain level headed, and the multiple voicemails on Matt’s phone confirmed that Joel was trying to placate Matt, not seeking comfort himself. And so, Matt saw no need to rush back to the city. Right now, he had more pressing matters to deal with. Like the absence of his younger companion.  
  
Matt had left to restock some supplies, not knowing how much longer they’d be out here. When he got back, Spoole and his bike were both gone, and Matt sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. He didn’t care if Spoole had felt the need to get away, he just wished that he’d told Matt he was going. Spoole had been a mess for the past four days they’d spent out here, and that was putting it politely as far as Matt was concerned. He’d been there for his friend, though, and that was what mattered. He’d managed to keep his own feelings locked down, had been there for someone he loved when they needed him the most. That was the important thing here.  
  
He listened to the new messages from Joel, found out that he’d been trying to get hold of Spoole too, had been round to visit them, found the apartment empty and was growing worried. He sent Joel a simple text which simply read ‘Got away for a while. Sean’s with me, no need to worry.’ He didn’t need to know where they’d gone (after all, they’d left to escape everything for a little while, their crew included) and he trusted that Joel wouldn’t track them down now he knew what was going on. He was pretty understanding, and Matt could be trusted to care for both Spoole and himself, after all.  
  
Though Matt’s self-care right now only extended to meeting all of his physical needs. He kept himself clean, fed and hydrated, made sure Spoole did the same. The difference between them was that Spoole was open about his emotional issues. He was upset, rightly so, and Matt supported him through it. This meant Matt had to be strong, couldn’t let Spoole down and crumble like a part of him wanted to. He had someone relying on him, needing him, and as usual Matt put the needs of his friends before his own.  
  
Matt learned very quickly that his stoic, deadpan nature coupled with his quiet demeanour meant people assumed he was largely nonplussed when it came to emotional issues. Of course, he never challenged this assessment, since being perceived as cold-hearted worked in his favour when it came to doing his job. To some extent it was true; Matt had no qualms about taking his sniper rifle and putting bullets in the heads of strangers. Eliminating threats or taking out corrupt people was something he could do without a second thought, but there were people he cared about, people he loved. The members of his crew were people who Matt would protect with his own life, people he’d killed for and with, people who Matt wanted to keep safe.  Bruce had been one of those people.  
  
Granted, Bruce was often the one who tried to keep Matt safe, especially during their downtime. Matt couldn’t bring himself to think back on nights spent together, jokes shared between them, the wounds they’d tended to and the way their skin brushed so frequently, casually. He knew he’d miss Bruce more off the job than on one. They could bring in another gangbanger; this city was full of criminals, some of them almost as talented, and guaranteed to improve with experience. Only their crew ran deeper than that. They weren’t just crooks who ran together, yet that was all Bruce had seen, apparently. He’d walked out on them like he was leaving a dead-end job, like he didn’t care about any of them, like nobody cared for him.  
  
Matt cared. He cared more than he was willing to admit. He hated how quiet he was, berates himself now for allowing Bruce to go without saying a damn word to him. Matt could’ve screamed, could have cried, accused Bruce of so many things and questioned him like they’d pulled him in for an interrogation. As always, though, Matt kept quiet, and his resolve hadn’t broken yet. The anger and the pain he felt hadn’t subsided as such, but he’d shoved it to the side-lines, because he had responsibilities, and he couldn’t let his emotions get in the way of that. He’d managed to keep quiet up until now, could supress the urge to shout or to cry when he was distracted, when he could focus on Spoole, on making sure that his boyfriend was okay. He could offer comforting smiles, wrap his arms around Spoole’s shoulders as they shake and hold him until the sobs subsided.  
  
“I know, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay,” Matt had murmured over and over, the rhetoric a comfort to Spoole and to himself, though it was mostly for the benefit of the former. Matt would rather that, would rather take a deep breath and push away his own worries and help someone else through this mess, because that was more beneficial. Ultimately, his happiness wasn’t as important as the happiness of the people he cared about.  


* * *

  
Given that James could barely tolerate to sit on their couch because of the connections his mind made, the responsibility of clearing out Bruce’s belongings fell to Elyse. The first morning she woke up without him in her life, she set to work gathering his things he’d left in the house. It was mostly clothes, casual things that Bruce would wear on lazy-days, shorts which were well-worn in and t-shirts whose colours had long ago faded, the designs faint and obscured. Things that wouldn’t be missed and were easily replaced, and so hadn’t been high on Bruce’s list of priorities. Elyse recalled James leaving last night, sat on the edge of their bed, her hands clutching a pair of Bruce’s socks which had been rolled into a ball.  
  
_“I can’t be here,”_ James had said, springing up from the bed that neither of them had been sleeping in, already pulling on a pair of jeans.  
  
_“James, it’s four in the morning,”_ Elyse had tried to reason, sitting up but making no move to pull James back to her.  
  
_“I don’t care. I can’t be in this house, not now, not that…”_ He had trailed off, Elyse’s chest going tight as she caught the way his voice cracked. He was hurting, and pretending things were normal was only making it worse. _“I need to get out and do something, to be someplace where I don’t have to think about any of this.”_  
  
Elyse understood that. So, she had let him go, sat up in the dark watching him dress, grab his gun and his keys and disappear into the night. She didn’t want to think of what he was going to do, she just hoped it would help him. She went back to sleep and when she woke she knew that she needed to get rid of Bruce’s things, for James’s sake. If he could feel his absence just lying in bed, then the shorts strewn casually on their bedroom floor or the CDs which neither of them would dream of buying for themselves would only serve as a more poignant reminder of their loss.  
  
Everything was packed into garbage bags, and Elyse wondered briefly if she should put them in the garage, in case Bruce came back for them. She then immediately chided herself for her optimism, for allowing herself to believe that he wasn’t gone for good. Bruce had made it perfectly clear that he was cutting all ties. Elyse reasoned that burning his bridges was a two way street. Neither she nor James should have any false hope about seeing him again, and keeping those bags wouldn’t be fair on either of them. So the bags were loaded into her car, and Bruce’s old clothes were donated to a charity store. They’d be more use there than sat waiting for an owner who wouldn’t come back for them.  
  
She couldn’t bring herself to be angry at Bruce, even when she saw how hard James was hit. Elyse couldn’t resent him for walking away from all this, because their lifestyle was fucked up, and no matter how much it hurt to lose him, Elyse could never hate someone for wanting a better life. Especially not someone like Bruce, someone she loved, somebody who deserved better than all this. She was sad, sure. She missed him singing in the mornings as he made breakfast, and she missed waking up to see his face. She missed watching him and James yell at each other as they played video games, missed curling up with the two of them to watch movies and eat pizza. But at the same time, Elyse knew that what they did was dangerous and stupid, and not at all sustainable. Their lives were more than sweet domestic moments, and as far as she was concerned, the cons could easily outweigh the pros when you were in this game. Your life was a big price to pay, and honestly, Elyse was glad that she lost Bruce when his heart was still beating. She didn’t voice this to James, of course, as she knew he couldn’t believe what Bruce had done. James couldn’t understand why he would walk away from the money, the adrenaline, the people he loved. Elyse could, and hoped James would come to see Bruce’s side of things in time, when the blow of losing him wasn’t so fresh.  
  
However, when a week had passed and James was still spending a minimal amount of time in their home, Elyse started worrying a little more about how well he was really coping. She hadn’t heard from anyone but Joel, who had apparently been keeping tabs on everyone and then providing a stream of updates to the whole crew, confirming that nobody had disappeared or gotten hurt. Which was only mildly reassuring, given that she still couldn’t remember the last time all of them had been apart for this long.  
  
Some action was required on her part, she decided. Elyse sent out a group message to everyone, telling them nothing but. ‘Our place, ASAP. We need to talk about this.’ She had hope that all of them would actually show up, it was just a matter of when everyone would be here. In the meantime, she mulled around, cleaning up bits and pieces in the house, just so she wouldn’t have to sit on the couch in silence, waiting for somebody to arrive.  
  
That first somebody was James, letting himself in and stopping at the kitchen to look around for his girlfriend.  
  
“Elyse?” He called, and heard a quiet:  
  
“In here,” coming from the bedroom. He wandered down to find her making the bed, and it hit him how much James had been neglecting her. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t the only one missing Bruce, that Elyse had lived with him and laughed with him and loved him just the same way James himself had. Elyse was just better at dealing with it, he supposed. She always was stronger than him.  
  
“Hey,” he muttered eventually, after a long silence, and Elyse looked up from the runner she was adjusting, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.  
  
“Hi there,” she replied calmly, and if it weren’t for her actions, then her expression and her tone would’ve fooled James into thinking that she wasn’t stressed. Before he could comment, ask if she was okay, Elyse wrinkled up her nose and looked over the man.  
  
“You need to shower and change before anyone else gets here,” she told him flatly. “You smell like a bonfire.”  
  
“Yes sir,” James replied sarcastically, giving her a mock salute that had Elyse rolling her eyes and throwing a pillow at him. Her small grin stretched into a smile at the laugh that action managed to pull from James. He caught the pillow he tossed back to her. She went back to making the bed as James stepped into the closet, pulling out clean clothes to put on when he got back. “Elyse,” he murmured, his quivering voice causing her head to shoot up immediately.  
  
Elyse’s eyes fell on James’s deadpan expression, a clear attempt to keep whatever was in his head off his face. Then they dropped to his hands. She sighed apologetically, instantly recognising the suit James was holding as one which had once belonged to Bruce.  
  
“Fuck. I didn’t think to check your closet, I’m sorry,” she apologised, voice soft and sincere. “I thought I’d got everything,” she thought aloud, moving around the bed and taking the suit from James’s hands, which remained there for a moment, poised stiffly in mid-air, before falling limply to his sides.  
  
“It’s fine,” he assured, brain running on autopilot. Elyse thought he looked very many things in that moment, but fine was not one of them. In fact, ‘shocked’ was the one word which jumped out at her when she took in her boyfriend’s wide eyes (which were still staring off at the space Elyse had previously occupied).  
  
“You’re not,” Elyse argued gently, dropping the suit onto their neatly made bed. She placed her hands on James’s forearms, tilted her head until her eyes met his. “It’s okay. You miss him. You’re allowed to miss him.”  
  
“Elyse, I—”  
  
“You still need to shower,” she interrupted. “Go. We can talk about this when everyone gets here. From what I can gather from Joel, you’re not the only one who has some stuff he needs to get off his chest.” James took a few moments to think about this before nodding slowly. Elyse moved her hands away from his arms, watched him walk to the master bathroom and waited until the door closed, until she heard the water start running before she heaved a heavy sigh.  
  
Elyse moved to the closet which had been left open, sorting through the clothes and taking out the odd item which wasn’t James’s, depositing them on the bed along with the suit. She knelt and checked the shoes in the rack on the floor, finding only one pair which had belonged to Bruce. She picked up the well-worn grey and yellow sneakers which Bruce had worn so frequently, and tossed them onto the pile of clothes. She gave them a sad smile, about to look for a bag she could put them into when she heard muffled noises coming from upstairs.  
  
“James, I think some of the guys are here! I’ll meet you up there,” she called through the door before dashing off to investigate the source of the noises she’d heard. As she reached the top of the stairs she could make out the sound more clearly; the familiar pounding of impatient fists at her front door, accompanied with the muted yelling of her name and James’s. She dashed over and pulled the door open, smiling apologetically. “Hey, sorry, we were downstairs,” she explained, stepping back and holding the door open by means of an invitation.  
  
Lawrence immediately entered and made himself welcome, Adam right behind him as the hacker walked on to the living room. Elyse looked around outside, wondering how far off everyone else was.  
  
“Joel was right behind us, he should be here soon,” Adam called, almost as if he could read Elyse’s mind. She nodded and stepped out a little further, getting a better view of the winding road outside their house. Sure enough, she caught Joel walking up not two minutes later, and smiled as he approached.  
  
“I parked further down; figured you wouldn’t want fifty cars outside here.”  
  
“You’re always so smart, Joel!” She exclaimed, only teasing him slightly, and he chuckled at the compliment. The pair retreated inside then, Elyse assuming that Peake and Spoole might take a while, depending on where they’d ran off to.  
  
“I always say, I have to have something to offer, or you wouldn’t keep me around.”  
  
“I’d keep you around for that great ass alone!” Lawrence chimed in as they approached, and Joel rolled his eyes despite the grin gracing his features.  
  
“And I thought I was more than just a pretty to face to you,” Joel sighed, shaking his head and feigning sadness.  
  
“Obviously you are, because everyone knows I have the prettiest face around here,” interjected James as he came up the stairs behind them, now dressed in casual sweatpants and a baseball shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He took a look around the room, taking note of everyone who was here. “Where are Peake and Spoole?”  
  
“Matt said they took off some time last week,” Joel offered, switching almost instantly from light-hearted and playful to serious. “He didn’t say where. They could take a while.”  
  
“If I know Matt, they’re as off the grid as you can get around here,” Adam contributed, leaning on the kitchen counter. “But, he’ll also get back as quickly as he can if you ask for him.”  
  
“We can always count on Matt Peake,” Joel agreed, his statement met with solemn nods from everyone else. Elyse was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one to think of a certain crew member they couldn’t count on, not if the crestfallen looks on everyone’s faces were anything to go by. She sighed to herself, looking around the group and noting how the joy from their teasing had gone already, leaving no trace. All she saw in that moment were her boys, broken and trying to hold themselves together without Bruce to help them, the looks of contemplation or grief, of men who were deep in their thoughts or trying to keep their emotions at bay. She hated seeing them so upset.  
  
“You guys wanna help me make something to eat until they get here?” She asked, trying to lighten the mood and alleviate the awkward tension that had settled over them. They all took the opportunity gladly, responding with nods and eager affirmatives. They were all happy for something that would pass the time without much need for conversation.  


* * *

  
When Elyse had sent the text, Spoole had been out again. He was glad that Matt had taken him away from the city, but he sometimes found that even sitting around in their temporary residence was too much for him. Initially Matt had worried when Spoole disappeared, sometimes for hours at a time, but before long he stopped shooting Sean concerned glances and instead welcomed him back with offers of food and cuddles on the couch. Matt never once asked him where he went or why, and Spoole was eternally grateful for that. He had enough going through his mind already, without having to feel guilty about worrying Matt too.  
  
Matt not demanding an explanation of him was a huge weight lifted off Spoole’s shoulders. It meant he could take his motorcycle, disappear into the mountains and just forget about everything for a while. He found comfort in the wilderness, felt under no pressure at all when the only other sentient life around him was the occasional deer. Spoole tended to avoid beaten tracks when he could, not wanting to encounter any hikers whilst he was out wrestling with his own emotions. Rarely, he would go right up to Mount Chiliad, most of the time when it was late at night and no other people would be out and walking the mountain paths. He rode his bike so far and the walked to the peak, looked down at lights from the city below. The wind was cold, more prevalent up here, and Spoole would pull his jacket tighter around himself, let the tear tracks dry stiff onto his cheeks.  
  
He would look and wonder where Bruce was, if he was amongst the bustle of the city that Spoole had been so keen to leave behind. Or had he had similar thoughts, had he ran from them and anything that would remind Bruce of the life he had given up on. Spoole wondered, hoped deep down, that Bruce was missing them as much as they missed him. He had to, Spoole convinced himself. On nights when such thoughts filled Sean’s head, he would scream and let the winds carry his voice away, shouts which would fall on no ears but his own. He was free to cry here, didn’t have to worry about Matt’s concerned glances, about judgemental looks from strangers. He could yell and sob and cry at the darkness and nobody would know or care about how broken Spoole was over this.  
  
Eventually he stopped crying, but he still ran. Whereas before he would get away and be hit with his feelings like a freight train, now it was just habit. He wasn’t overcome with tears for no reason, wasn’t plagued by that sinking feeling in his chest when he realised he would probably never see Bruce again. He was moving slowly towards acceptance, or maybe he’d just become numb to his own sadness. He wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to dwell on the matter for fear of tugging at a thread which would unravel a plethora of other issues Spoole didn’t want to deal with. So instead he embraced the silence of his mind, sat on a rock looking down at the faint outlines of civilisation and tried to appreciate what he did have.  
  
He had Matt, always ready to pull Spoole into his arms as soon as Spoole got back. Down there, among the distant, blinking lights of Los Santos he had five other people who cared about him, who were all dealing with the same issue, in their own way. He had the choice to get away from it all, had room to breathe or scream or do whatever else he needed to make the whole thing easier. He felt more grateful when he was out alone, the stars overhead making him and his problems feel insignificant. The winds still blew around him, biting at him through his jacket, but they were quieter when they didn’t carry his shouts with them. He took deep breaths, remembered that he still had plenty of great people in his life, despite the one he’d lost.  
  
Spoole lost track of the days, forgot how long it had been since Bruce left, since they came here, since he got a decent sleep at night. He wasn’t sure how many times he’d cried or how often Matt had pulled him in close to console him. He didn’t take note of the hours he spent out in the forest, on the mountains, the time he wasted doing nothing but thinking.  
  
He never took his phone with him (after all, he was trying to get away from everything and everyone), so by the time he saw Elyse’s message, it was pointless anyway. He got back from one of his outings, and Matt was packing up the small amount of stuff they’d brought with them.  
  
“Are we going back?” Spoole asked, surprised that Matt had sprung into action like this without even warning Spoole that he intended on leaving.  
  
“Elyse text everyone; she’s called a crew meeting at her and James’s place,” he explained, looking up from the rucksack he was packing T-shirts into and giving Spoole a sympathetic smile. “I would’ve told you, but…”  
  
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Spoole assured, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve probably been away long enough, right?”  
  
“It’s enough when you say it is,” Matt shrugged, not glancing at Spoole as he spoke now, focused on getting everything packed so they could get going.  
  
“Unless Elyse demands us back,” he laughed, managing to quirk Matt’s lips up into one of his precious smiles that Spoole never grew tired of.  
  
“Unless Elyse demands us back,” he agreed, zipping up the rucksack and picking up the other one he’d apparently already filled. “Which she has. So… Ready to go?”  
  
“Ready,” Spoole nodded, trying to feign confidence as he stepped forwards and took one of the bags off Peake. If Matt could see right through Spoole’s false composure, he didn’t make it obvious.  


* * *

  
“I’ll get the door,” Adam said quickly, though all of them rose to their feet when they heard someone knocking. They had made dinner together, sat down and ate most of their food when they were interrupted by the soft thudding of a fist on wood. Nobody was concerned with finishing their food now, and the group moved, standing around the couches in the living room. Adam returned with Matt and Sean in tow, glancing around at everyone and then moving to clear the table, since he figured they wouldn’t be getting back to their meal now that they were about to start talking business.  
  
“Where have you guys been?” Lawrence asked, not concerned with boundaries and privacy in the same way the rest of them were. Spoole opened his mouth, ready to politely tell Lawrence that he didn’t need to know, when Matt spoke up beside him.  
  
“Paleto bay,” he replied steadily. “Well, sort of.”  
  
“Strange time to take a vacation,” Lawrence teased, and as usual, Matt didn’t take the bait.  
  
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he murmured, shrugging one shoulder.  
  
“Why did we have to come back, is something wrong?” Spoole asked before Lawrence could come up with some other witty response.  
  
“You mean other than the fact we’ve all been practically ignoring each other for the last week?” Joel deadpanned. Adam sighed, returning from the kitchen where he’d been scraping their plates and loading up the dishwasher.  
  
“I know it’s tough going guys,” he started, “But I think we need to pull together again.”  
  
“I hate to play the part of the strict boss here, but if we’re gonna keep this crew together, we can’t really afford to waste any more time,” Joel added. “You guys know what happens to gangs that go quiet. We either get back in the saddle soon, or our hard earned reputation goes out of the window.”  
  
“So we’re here so we can all be whipped and sent back to work?” questioned Lawrence.  
  
“No, I called you all here because we need to talk about this shit,” Elyse cut in. “I know we’re all missing Bruce. Nobody likes the fact that he’s gone. But if we just ignore each other and be down about it, we’re gonna lose everything else, too.”  
  
“It just feels wrong,” muttered Spoole, eyes not leaving his feet. “To do anything without him here.”  
  
“I know,” Elyse sighed, sympathetic and understanding. “I know we’ve never had to be without him, without anyone, in this way before. But Bruce is gone. It fucking sucks, but it’s gonna suck even more if it means we let the rest of this go on top of that.”  
  
“Elyse is right,” Adam said. “We still have each other. We should focus on that now, not what we lost.”  
  
“That’s a lot easier said than done,” Lawrence protests with a sarcastic laugh. All eyes fall to him and he shrugs, not caring about the glares he’s receiving from certain members of the crew. “What? I’m just saying. You think any of us _want_ to be miserable over this whole thing? I don’t know about you guys, but I would’ve gladly taken the move on option as soon as Bruce walked out of that door, but that’s not how the world works.”  
  
“Lawrence,” Adam began, soft and ready to offer comfort, but Lawrence was apparently having none of it.  
  
“No, Adam. You don’t get to just wave your hand and make it all okay. It hurts. I know that you miss him just as much as the rest of us, and that’s fine. What you don’t realise is that it’s _okay_ for us to be fucked up over this. It’s okay to want time to get over it, and pretending that everyone’s okay again just so we can get back to work doesn’t fix anything.”  
  
“Guys, can we not fight?” Joel pleaded, already sensing the direction that the conversation was going in.  
  
“I’m not fighting!” Lawrence protested. “I’m trying to point out that we’re all in the same shitty boat here, and we need to deal with it.”  
  
“What else can we do besides get on with our lives?” Adam contested.  
  
“Talk about it, maybe? God knows that we haven’t spoken to each other properly since Bruce went bye-bye, and clearly this whole ‘figure it out yourself’ thing hasn’t got us anywhere. So maybe we need a different approach.”  
  
“You want us to sit in a circle and say what’s on our minds?” James asked, mockingly.  
  
“If that’s the only thing that’s going to work, then yes!”  
  
“I’m not having a group therapy session, Lawrence, but thanks for the offer,” the blue-eyed man stated firmly.  
  
“No James, y’know what, you’re right. Blowing up cop cars is a _much_ more effective way of coping with your emotions than having a fucking conversation.”  
  
“Says the guy whose best friend for the past week has been a whiskey bottle.”  
  
“Guys!” Adam snapped, trying to reign them back in before they tore each other’s throats out. “This isn’t helping anyone.”  
  
“Nothing is gonna help us, is it?” Spoole sighed, finally looking around the room. “We don’t know what the hell to do without him.”  
  
“We keep going,” Elyse remarked. “I lost Bruce, I’m not about to let the rest of you go too. We figure something out, and we move on. I’m not saying we forget about him, and I’m not saying we pretend everything is alright. But we can’t let this tear us apart.”  
  
“Elyse is right,” Adam sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We have to learn to be a crew without Bruce here.”  
  
“So what, we just plan our next heist and wait for it stop hurting?” Joel questioned, though there was no malice in his tone, only genuine curiosity and maybe a pinch of doubt.  
  
“I don’t know that it will ever stop hurting,” admitted Adam. “We… We all lost someone we loved, and I don’t think that wound’s going to heal any time soon. Maybe it never will. But it’s gonna get easier over time.”  
  
“Oh, and you know that, do you?” James challenged. “Adam with his crystal ball can see that we’ll be one big happy family again in the future, guys, don’t worry.”  
  
“James, stop making this more difficult than it already is,” Joel pleaded.  
  
“We’re all trying our best, and right now that’s all we’ve got,” Lawrence sighed, tired and in need of a stiff drink by this point.  
  
“I think Adam’s right,” offered Spoole. “This whole thing hurts, and it sucks, but if we keep trying to fight with each other instead of fixing it, then it won’t ever get any easier.”  
  
 Adam ready to thank Spoole for defending him, looked around to see the slumped shoulders of his friends who were quickly growing tired of the arguing. Then his eyes fell on Matt and he realised he was the only one who hadn’t said anything this whole time. Matt was stood stiffly, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie and his eyes darting about almost nervously.  
  
“Hey, Matt,” Adam called softly, trying to draw his attention. Matt’s wide eyes snapped up and, if Adam didn’t know better, he would’ve said he looked frightened. “Are you okay, man?”  
  
The next sequence of events seemed surreal, the memories blurred and hazy because none of them knew exactly what happened, but the question sparked a change in the atmosphere. Matt opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly it was all too much, and he couldn’t ignore the lump in his throat or the burn in his eyes any longer. He privately cursed Adam and his concern as Matt felt tears spilling from his eyes, heard a feeble noise of anguish and realised it must have come from his own lips.  
  
Adam was across the room in a split second, confused and worried as he wrapped his arms around Matt’s torso, pulled him in close until there was no space between them. The others watched on in shock as Matt curled into Adam’s larger frame, buried his head into Adam’s chest and hoped that his sobs weren’t too audible. Nobody had ever seen Matt this emotional before. Even Adam, who had gone to college with Matt, had been by his side through most of the shit Matt had dealt with. Through all of it, Adam had never once seen Matt cry. He wondered how none of them ever thought to check up on him and not just Spoole, why everyone assumed that Matt would be fine. Adam hated himself for not making sure Matt was okay.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Matt choked out, his voice muffled by Adam’s shirt and broken from the all the emotions he was experiencing.  
  
“Hey, don’t,” Adam shushed him pressing kisses to Matt’s head as he rubbed the smaller man’s back comfortingly. “You have nothing to apologise for.”  
  
“I’m supposed to be strong,” Matt argued, breath hitching and his arms clinging tightly where they were wrapped around Adam’s waist, fingers fisting at the other man’s shirt. “I’m supposed to make sure you’re all okay.”  
  
“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Matt,” James insisted, coming up besides the pair and laying a comforting hand on Matt’s shoulder. Matt flinched at the touch, pulling away from Adam so he could scowl at James.  
  
“Yes I do!” He snapped. “Look at us. Everyone’s a mess, and I need to be okay so that I can make sure you’re okay. I have to keep it together, because if I don’t, then who’s going to?”  
  
“We’re not all your responsibility, Matt,” Elyse pressed, coming over to join the little group that was forming around Matt. Spoole shifted too, feeling guilty about putting so much strain on his boyfriend over the past week and offering nothing in return, but he wasn’t sure how to make up for that right now. He was still shocked to see Matt so vulnerable.  
  
“I want you to be,” Matt retorted. “I wanna be there for all of you, and I don’t want you to worry about me when you have other stuff to deal with.” Elyse sighed and pulled Matt in for a hug of her own, meeting his eyes before she spoke.  
  
“We’re a crew, Matt. A team. We’re all meant to help each other out, and you’re a part of that.”  
  
“I just…”  
  
“You don’t like us worrying about you,” Elyse nodded, offering a small smile of reassurance. “I know. But we care about you, Matt. The same way you care about the rest of us. So we’re allowed to help you out when you need it.”  
  
“And you’re still allowed to take care of us, too,” Adam interjected, causing Matt’s head to turn towards his voice. “You’re great at it. But don’t let that come at the expensive of your own wellbeing, okay?”  
  
Matt nodded slowly, giving Adam a watery smile, and Elyse took a step away so Adam could draw him back in, press a chaste kiss to Matt’s lips as one of Adam’s arms curled around Matt’s waist.  
  
“If I ever see Bruce again, I’m putting a bullet somewhere it won’t cause long-term damage,” Lawrence said suddenly, making all heads snap to him, surprised by the outburst.  
  
“Get in line,” James laughed humourlessly. “I call first dibs on shooting that asshole.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Spoole questioned, his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why they wanted to shoot Bruce all of a sudden. “Why?”  
  
“Because nobody makes Matt Peake cry and gets away with it,” Lawrence explained, and Matt actually laughed at that, despite the tears he was still blinking out of his eyes.  
  
“I don’t need a knight in shining armour, but thanks,” he tried to insist, though his attempt to seem independent was nullified by the fact he was still pressed into Adam’s side, head leaning on his lover’s shoulder.  
  
“Oh, I know you’re more than capable of shooting him yourself,” shrugged Lawrence. “But it’s the principle.”  
  
“Can we all agree that we won’t kill Bruce upon sight?” Joel laughed nervously, unsure how serious Lawrence was being.  
  
“I sure as hell don’t wanna kill him,” James countered. “I just wanna show him that nobody fucks with Fakehaus and gets away with it.”  
  
“So they crew’s back together?” Asked Spoole eagerly, his excitement evident in his voice.  
  
“The crew’s back, baby!” Elyse exclaimed, throwing her fist in the air and causing the rest of the group to burst into laughter.  
  
Sure, they were still not over it, and they had no idea when they’d be back to the way things used to be. Maybe they never would be quite the same again. They would probably be more cautious from here on out, more hesitant to let people in. But, they would also have a new perspective on things now. They wouldn’t take each other for granted anymore, would value the time they spent together, because they knew it was limited. Oddly enough, the whole thing brought them closer. They’d learned that they couldn’t suffer alone, had to accept help from each other and learn when to take a step back and admit that maybe things weren’t going so well. It wouldn’t be easy, trying to get back to business as usual with one less person among them, but at least they still had each other.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to [hit me up on tumblr!](http://candykovic.tumblr.com)


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